Come Hell or Deep Water
by DragonRyuuji
Summary: Dean is going to hell. He knows that, and he works with his brother to reverse it, but it's not an easy task. Meanwhile, a brutal murder case surfaces in Miami. Dean and Sam goes to Miami in order to investigate this 'Bay Harbor Butcher', certain that it can't be something human. Little do they know that the murderer is one of the people working on the case.
1. Chapter 1

"Sammy, man, I'm telling you," Dean Winchester said as he entered the motel room, a tired look on his face. "I'll figure something out, okay?"

"You've been saying that for the past four months, Dean!" Sam Winchester exclaimed, closing the door behind them. He pulled a hand through his hair, an exasperated expression tainting his features. "Look, you have eight months left. Eight months, and then you'll be heading downstairs, and I can't just sit here and look at you throw away your shot at doing something about it!"

"Well there's not much I can do, is there?" Dean asked, frowning deeply. "I've been looking, okay? You know I have! I just… I have no idea how I'm supposed to reverse this. And that's why I've decided that as long as I don't have any leads, I'll hunt down as many evil sons of bitches as I can. I mean, if I'm going to hell, that's the least I can do, right?"

Sam sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. Their situation was definitely complicated. Only four months earlier, Sam had been stabbed to death, and Dean – being the over-protective and caring brother he is – sold his soul to a demon to get Sam back. He'd gotten one year before he would be sent to hell. Yet the only thing Sam's brother wanted to do was hunt monsters. And Sam wasn't even surprised.

"We'll get through this, Sammy. You know we will." Dean smiled. It's not like he wanted to admit it, but going to hell wasn't exactly something he wanted to do. But he also felt as if he deserved it. As if going there would redeem what he caused his father to do for him. Seemed like selling your soul was usual Winchester stuff. But still, Dean was set on hunting monsters. He wanted to get rid of as many of them as possible before he died. The world would be missing one hell of a hunter, after all.

Dean shrugged away his thoughts and sat down on one of the beds, using the remote control to turn on the little TV they had in the motel room.

"Jesus christ," Dean mumbled, immediately catching Sam's attention. "Sammy. Take a look at this." He said as he turned up the volume. Sam, looking annoyed about the fact that Dean was so eager to change the subject, walked over to him and looked at the screen.

"It's just… a lot of trash bags," Sam uttered, frowning in confusion. Dean just stayed quiet until the reporter on TV started talking.

"It was early this morning that a group of divers explored the bottom of the waters here in Miami. What they found was not what they had been looking for. Large amounts of these plastic bags have been recovered from the water, and they have been said to all contain the same thing. Human body parts."

"What?!" Sam exclaimed, looking at the number of bags. "But those are like… that's a lot!" He uttered.

"Yeah, no kiddin'," Dean huffed, rubbing his forehead. "So, what do you think? This worth checking out?"

"Dean, we have no proof that it's a monster," Sam said, rolling his eyes at Dean.

"Since when was a human being capable of killing that many people?"

…

_There are times in life where nothing is as it should be. Where nothing ever goes the way you want. Only days ago, all my deepest secrets surfaced and showed themselves to the world. To the police department. At least for now, they don't know that they're my secrets. And I need to keep it that way. After the incident with Paul, Rita seems to believe I'm a drug addict… and decided to throw me out of the house. There's a "pause" in our relationship, and I don't know how long that's going to last. These are all things I need to take care of, as soon as possible. At least I still have __**her**__._

"She'll take you back soon, Dexter," Debra Morgan said, patting her brother's shoulder as she sat down next to him at the kitchen bar. "She'll realize how good you are for her."

"But what if I'm not?" Dexter Morgan asked, looking up from his plate. "I mean, I'm not exactly… boyfriend of the year."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Debra frowned. "Dude, you're not just boyfriend of the year, you're the person of the year. Seriously, if she can't see how fucking great you are, I'm not… I'm not sure if she can see that in anyone."

Dexter chuckled softly and rolled his eyes a little. "Whatever you say, sis."

"So why did she throw you out, anyways? Like, was there any particular reason?"

"I don't know. I think Paul's death was a bit hard on her, and she just… needed a break, I guess." He shrugged. Debra nodded weakly.

"At least we'll have much to work with now," Debra said, a lighter tone to her voice. "I mean, we have the Bay Harbor fucking Butcher to catch."

…

The tires of the old Chevrolet impala rolled over the asphalt, the sound of the motor having eventually become a calming sound to the Winchester brothers. REO Speedwagon blared over the speakers as they drove, Dean idly tapping away at the steering wheel.

"Cheer up, will ya?" He grinned over at Sam, having to speak loudly for Sam to hear him. "I don't want no grumpy behavior, that's just boring."

"Dude, we've been driving for 12 hours!" Sam exclaimed, gesticulating with his hands. "Aren't we there yet?"

Dean laughed heartily, cocking his head a little to the side. "Good point," he nodded. "We'll be there in the early morning. Probably around 7 am."

"Oh my god," Sam groaned. "That's five more hours."

"It'll be fine!" Dean chuckled, patting Sam's shoulder with his right hand. "Try and get some shut-eye. I'll wake you when we're there."

"Easy for you to say," Sam sighed, rolling his eyes a little. He mumbled grumpily under his breath. "Damn music."

They drove through the night, and when Dean saw that Sam was about to fall asleep, he quietly turned down the music and let the motor and his low humming of a random melody lull his brother to sleep.

They drove through the night, and the first thing on Dean's list when getting to Miami was getting a good few hours of sleep. Once they arrived in Miami, Dean drove until he found a pretty cheap motel. He woke Sam and they went in and rented a room, and it didn't take long before they were both sleeping in each their bed. They didn't pay any attention to the footsteps out in the hallways as someone passed by their door, or the sounds of cars passing by on the streets outside.

Dexter passed the motel in his car, paying no extra heed to the shabby looking building as he looked in the rearview mirror.

_Doakes isn't following me tonight. I guess he didn't notice me leaving my apartment at all. Perfect._

He drove down the road for ten minutes until he reached a suburban area, pulling up next to a house at the end of the street. He exited the car and crept towards the house, quietly pulling a pair of black rubber gloves onto his hands. He snuck up to one of the windows and peered inside. Inside was a man, passed out on the couch next to several bottles of beer and whiskey.

_Perfect. You knocked yourself out so I wouldn't have to._

He walked over to the door and tried the handle. It opened. This was almost too easy. He silently made his way inside, and inside his head he was scouring the walls and floors of the grease that covered them. Disgusting. He pursed his lips and walked into the living room, readying his syringe. He wouldn't take any chances. He stuck it inside the man's neck and hoisted him over his shoulder.

Time to get to the kill-room.

Dexter put the man in the trunk of his car and drove off. He couldn't help but feel that this was even more exhilarating now that people were after him. He was the subject of a gigantic manhunt and no one even knew that it was him. He felt the pulse rising inside of him, and it felt amazing.

The room he'd chosen wasn't far away. He drove there, and after making sure no one was watching, he carried his victim inside.

…

"W-What the fuck?" The man uttered in slurred words as he woke up, the plastic straining against his chubby body.

"Richard Moltain," Dexter said in a monotone voice, his eyes flickering from the side to the man on the table. "Killed your brother. Killed your wife. Now it's your turn to go."

"I-I didn't-"

"Yeah, and I didn't kill all those people that they found on the bottom of the ocean," Dexter said, holding his hands up as if surrendering. "I'm innocent!" He exclaimed, and for a few seconds, he was silent… and then he broke into laughter. "But that's what we do, isn't it? We lie. It's our best way to defend ourselves. Only I do it much better than you."

"I don't understand what you're talking about!" The man trembled, and Dexter walked over to him with a scalpel and ran it down his cheek. "O-Owh!"

"Of course you don't," Dexter said, rolling his eyes a little. "Doesn't matter really, you're about to die anyways." He said, and before the man could say anything more, Dexter picked up a knife and plunged it into his chest. He stood there for a while, before exhaling calmly. That felt good.

…

"How come we didn't consider this, huh? I mean, it was pretty obvious!" Sam exclaimed as they walked out of the Miami Metro police department. They'd walked in there with their FBI badges ready when they'd seen the _actual FBI _there. It hadn't taken them long to get the hell out of there.

"I don't know, Sammy. It's not often FBI gets involved." Dean said, looking around as if trying to find something.

"No, but this case is… it's huge, Dean. It's no wonder they're here."

"Guess you're right. So, how're we supposed to get any important information now?" Dean sighed, his gaze returning to his brother. "Think we gotta break in or something?"

"Not exactly the greatest idea, Dean. This is Miami. Then, on the other hand," Sam said, turning to where some people were working on getting up a huge tent. "That field tent… shouldn't be too difficult in the middle of the night, should it?"

"Good going, Sammy," Dean chuckled, patting Sam's shoulder. His attention was drawn towards an Asian man walking towards the police department with a laminate around his neck. "Maybe we could… uh." Dean bumped Sam and pointed towards the guy. "Worth a shot, isn't it?"

Sam shrugged a little, and Dean approached the Asian man with a smile.

"Excuse me," he said, and the Asian man turned towards him. "Hi, I'm with the Miami Today newspaper. Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Uh, sure, ask away. I can't promise you that I can answer all of them, though," the man answered, correcting his glasses a little. Dean had noted that his laminate said something along the lines of 'forensics investigator', so he was almost sure he worked the Butcher case.

"You working on the butcher thing?" Dean asked, and the Asian man nodded. "How much can you say on the case?"

"Not much apart from what you've already heard on the news. Fuckton of bodies. And sadly, no DNA traces to tell us who did it."

"I see… anything else?"

"That's the thing… we're not really allowed to say anything else." The man said, gritting his teeth a little. He opened his bag and pulled out a card, handing it to Dean. "Here, if you want to take contact some time later, maybe I'll be able to help."

Dean took the card and noticed the corner of a magazine in the man's bag. "Hey, that… couldn't possibly be the new edition of, uh… B.A.B?" He asked, a knowing smirk on his face. The Asian man's eyes lit up.

"You a fan of Busty Asian Beauties?" He grinned.

"Yeah. I'm especially fan of Harumi Nakohoto." Dean said, screwing up a little on the pronunciation.

"A Nakohoto fan too, huh? I can't lie, she's a real beauty." He said, and what Dean could only describe as a perverted laugh escaped the man's mouth. "Look, I can give you one more thing, seeing as how you're a fan of the motherland and all. We'll just say this is not from the mouth of a man working with the police, but strictly from me. Vincent Masuka. From what we've found so far… it seems like the butcher only kills, you know…"

"What?" Dean asked, perching his eyebrow curiously.

"Bad guys. You know, murderers."

"You for real?" Dean uttered, his eyes wide with surprise. "That's… unexpected."

"I know, right? Anyways, don't tell anyone. And please don't put it in your paper, I mean it's… still confidential. You can imagine the uproar if people found out that the guy's a vigilante."

"Yeah, no, of course. I'll keep it all to myself."

He returned to Sam, and the brother was more than just a little confused. "What? It kills murderers?" He asked, frowning. "That's weird… Only thing I can really think of is a vengeful spirit out for murderers, but… first of all, those bodies were out in the ocean. And, I mean, since when would a spirit go through the trouble of slicing and dicing their victims like that?"

"I don't know, Sammy. Looks like we have some research to do." He said, throwing another glance at the field tent that was being set up. He was looking forward to checking it out once everything was set up. They stood there for a while, discussing a little, and several people passed them on the way. But for some reason, the two of them noticed one man.

He walked towards the station entrance, him too wearing a forensics laminate around his neck. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he had a black bag over one shoulder. He turned his head for a moment, meeting Dean's eyes, but it was as if he wasn't looking at him. He was looking beyond him, or… he was looking at nothing at all. Dean shivered unpleasantly and nodded a little towards the man who had finally looked away.

"Lab geek over there give you the creeps too?" Dean asked, gritting his teeth towards Sam.

"I'm… not sure. Something felt off." Sam shrugged.

Something.


	2. Chapter 2

The days went by in Miami, but nothing really showed up. Nothing for the Miami Metro Homicide Department, or the impatient Winchester brothers. They had been searching for clues, reading up on different lore, but they found nothing about any monster killing people in the name of justice and dumping them on the bottom of the ocean.

"How do we know for sure?" Sam asked, rubbing his forehead frantically. "How do we know it's not just some human?"

"Humans don't do this kinda crap, Sammy. No human would be able to get away with something as big as this." Dean frowned.

"They could be absolutely delirious, Dean! Like... they could have some twisted sense of justice, and somehow found a way of doing it without getting caught." Sam said, perching an eyebrow in question. Dean thought for quite a while, trying to think of a way to phrase himself.

"It doesn't really matter, Sammy," he said, narrowing his eyes a little. "Because - whoever did this - they're a monster either way. It's our job to kill them no matter what."

"Dean, we kill monsters, not people!" Sam exclaimed, suddenly sounding a bit angry. He realized it was contradictory, but it didn't matter. They had a code, and it had to be followed.

"Then you need to understand that this case is exactly that!" Dean shouted, his fists clenching in frustration. "Whoever's doing this, Sammy, they're hurting other people! Look, I don't care that they kill people who deserve it, they're still killing people!"

Sam looked at Dean for a long time, a bitter smile pulling at his lips. "Yeah," he said, the smile faltering. "Yeah, I guess you're right. As long as we can find out who it is, I guess."

They finished their discussion and decided to head out to try and find some more information. They left the parking lot in the impala. After they'd left, a man and a woman stepped forwards from around the corner of the motel, the man cocking his head a little.

"They're after the butcher," the man said, scrunching his nose a little.

"Why can't they just stay away?" The woman growled. "We only just heard about this butcher, and whoever they are... we need them." She said.

"We cannot let the Winchesters get to them. But we're not allowed to kill them yet either. What are we supposed to do?" The man asked, looking at the woman.

"I think we'll just have to find the butcher before they do and have the butcher make a deal somehow," she replied. "After all, they'll make the perfect demon," she smiled deviously, and their eyes flickered and became black.

...

Dexter left the field tent with a feeling of nostalgia in his chest. He hated seeing his old friends back on the surface, but it brought back a lot of memories. Some of them had even been recognizable, and he had been able to remember just how he'd killed them. It was a nice feeling. But he still wished he hadn't been forced into remembering it.

This whole situation was way too dangerous. He had never been this close to getting caught before, and now he even had the FBI investigating the case. He definitely had to do something about the situation, but he didn't know what. He turned around and looked at the field tent, his eyes drifting towards the system that kept the tent cold.

_Some obstruction of government investigation wouldn't hurt anyone. At least not me._

He got his stuff from the lab and walked to his car, finally done for the day. As he started the car and prepared to go home, his phone called. "Hello?" He said into the phone, and Rita answered.

"Hi, Dexter," she said, sounding a bit timid. Dexter was surprised that she'd call him.

"Hey, Rita," he replied.

"I was thinking... I've been kind of judgmental lately, and... while I'm not yet ready to just forget everything that's happened, I think we should still work on it. And the kids really want you to come over for dinner." She said, and Dexter could hear the shy smile in her voice. He checked the watch on his wrist.

"Yeah. Sure. I'll be right over." He said, the surprise still a bit evident in his voice.

"Thank you, Dexter."

...

Dexter returned to his apartment after dinner with Rita and the kids. It had went pretty well, actually, and he hoped he and Rita could find their way back to each other eventually. But he knew it'd take a while.

_Rita is a broken person. Fragile. After everything she's been through, she has every right to be cautious, and to tread lightly. I need to show more sympathy towards her if I want to understand her better, and to treat her the way she wants to be treated. It's too bad I don't have the ability to sympathize to begin with._

He unlocked the door to his apartment, and was immediately met by the rhythmic sound of feet against treadmill. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a frustrated sigh, laying his keys down on the kitchen counter. He never understood why she kept running so much all the time. It was as if she was trying to reach something, but there's not much you can reach when you're not even moving forward.

_It's not like you can move forwards in life when you're not moving at a-_

Dexter stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening a little. He looked at the door that lead to the room Debra was running in, and he could feel his chest tighten.

_Of course. She's trying to move on. Trying to distract herself from the thoughts that creep in on her whenever she's by herself. I've been too caught up in my own problems to realize it, but Debra is... broken. I may have fooled myself into thinking that concentrating on making sure no one catches me was more important, but... nothing is more important than her. Nothing ever was._

He slowly walked towards the door and opened it slowly in hopes of not scaring Debra. But he'd have to call her name either way. "Hey, Deb?" He said, loudly enough to speak over the sound of the treadmill. He could see Debra twitch a little but she turned off the treadmill and pretended like she was unfazed.

"Oh, hey," She said with a little smile, her breath heavy. She grabbed a towel that hung over the bed and used it to wipe the sweat from her brow. "You're home late," she said nonchalantly, but Dexter could hear the uncertainty in her voice. She didn't like being alone, not after everything that had happened with Dexter's brother.

"Yeah, I was-" he made sure not to draw too much attention to his own problems, "- just taking the car in for the annual check. Had a little leak in... god knows what, I don't know cars, but I got it fixed straight away. Didn't care to wait." He said with a smile, shrugging his shoulders a little. Debra nodded hesitantly, a distant look in her eyes as she did so.

"Did you eat?"

"No," Dexter lied. He never did anything for anyone else than himself unless it could benefit him, but this was Debra... he needed for her to be okay, because without her he was lost. So he had decided to do anything he could to mend her, and take her mind off of all the bad things. "Look, I know it's late and that we have work tomorrow, but... what do you say we order a pizza and watch a movie?"

Debra tried, for some reason, to suppress her surprised expression. It wasn't exactly like Dexter to come up with something like that out of the blue. Her lips twitched and Dexter waited for her answer. The twitching of her lips soon turned into a huge smile that she simply couldn't contain, and that smile seeped into her voice, too.

"You fucking know it," she beamed, tossing the towel over her shoulder. "I'll get a shower in the meantime." She said, and then she headed for the bathroom. Dexter sighed in relief at her positive answer, but was snapped out of it when Debra stuck her head out of the bathroom. "And Dex... I want some god damn extra cheese." She grinned.

"You got it," Dexter said, a humorous smile on his face. Maybe this would be good for himself too, to get his own mind off of things.

...

The empty pizza box stood on the table, bathed in the flickering lights from the motions on the TV screen. Dexter's eyes felt droopy. It wasn't exactly the best movie in the world, and it really was getting late. Debra's soft snoring against his shoulder which her head was lazily leaned on was almost lulling, making him want to sleep too. As soon as the credits came on, he tried shaking Debra's shoulder softly, but she didn't react. He barely managed to snake himself out of the couch, using his hands to make sure Debra didn't topple over and wake up.

"I'm the one who sleeps on the couch, remember?" He murmured. He lifted Debra into his arms and carried her towards the bedroom. "You're too light for your own good, sis." He whispered, noticing just how thin she'd gotten. He sighed as he put her down on his bed and draped the blankets over her. Debra didn't want to be alone, but what she didn't know didn't hurt her.

He silently left the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Debra was sound asleep, and she wouldn't wake up before he was back. He left the apartment and made absolutely sure the door was locked, for Debra's safety. He drove downtown, and pulled up a block away from the police station. He pulled on a pair of black leather gloves and walked the rest of the way to the station. Just outside stood a black car - a chevrolet, apparently - and he wondered who it belonged to.

He decided to ignore it and quietly climbed the fence outside of the field tent, sneaking over to the generator that ran the air-conditioning system inside. He heard voices inside.

"Dude," a gruff, male voice said. "This is all kinds of messed up. And that's coming from me."

"Yeah," another male voice said, sounding a bit kinder than the first. "Yeah, this is definitely weird... but the reports say that the wounds looked like they were caused from a power-saw... doesn't exactly sound like anything else than a human."

"Yeah, which makes it even more difficult to find. Damn it," the first male hissed.

"Dean, we really can't waste too much time working this case. We're kind of on a deadline here."

"I know, Sammy, I know. But there's just... there's something about this case that makes me want to work it. I mean, seriously, this is... this is sick."

Dexter frowned a little. He took the chance of sneaking to the opening to get a peek inside. He saw two men, one tall and with half-long hair. Who the hell were they? More people breaking into police property? He'd have to look into it later. He suddenly felt as if he'd seen them somewhere before, but he wasn't sure where. Maybe they'd been lurking around the station before.

"Alright, should we get?" The man called Sam asked. "I think we got everything we need."

"Yeah, think so," Dean replied. Dexter suddenly thought of something. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and retreated away from the opening to the tent. He turned the sound completely off and turned on the camera application. When the two men got out of the tent he snapped a few pictures, making sure the pictures showed where they were. He also snapped a few pictures of them as they left in their car, and made a mental note of the license plate.

This was good. If it became necessary, he could frame them. But only after he'd made sure they fit Harry's code. He didn't want to take down anyone innocent. He smirked softly to himself and pulled the plug on the air-conditioning, dooming the bodies inside to melt - literally.

After that he made his way back to the apartment and checked on Debra, who was still sleeping soundly. After that, he fell asleep on the couch while preparing for a day of utter frustration from everyone at the police station.


End file.
